


The Root (Vegetable) of the Problem

by stepquietly



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, F/M, Mild D/s, Mildly Dubious Consent, Spanking, Threesome - F/F/M, s02e01 alternate scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 17:32:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5793583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepquietly/pseuds/stepquietly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy has to save this interrogation by showing Dottie that Jack isn't all take and no give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Root (Vegetable) of the Problem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tanndell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanndell/gifts).



> Thanks for the beta, [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/meh_guh/profile)[](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/meh_guh/)**meh_guh**. All remaining filth, regrets, and terrible carrot puns are mine.
> 
> This is an alternate universe scene in which Peggy isn't in L.A. when Jack takes over Dottie's interrogation.

Jack’s still rubbing his neck when he comes out of the room. There’s a ball of frustration and resentment like a coil in his stomach because Dottie won’t give him this, isn’t going to give him anything unless Carter is the one doing the talking.

Jack knows what the right call is here; he knows exactly what he’d do if it was anyone else – hand the interrogation over, take the backseat. Except now the chief’s dead and there’s no one to balance him out or to back his plays, and Jack wants Dottie to pay for that. That and so much more, and he _just_ … doesn’t know how to do it.

“Maybe a while more in the tank will cool her off some,” he says to the men reattaching Dottie’s restraints. Dottie smiles back at him, Hollywood perfect, not a hair out of place despite everything.

“I hope you know that’s not going to work,” Peggy says the moment he walks into the observation room. “The last thing Dottie needs is time and we need answers.”

Jack knows this but he’s temporarily out of options, at least until his neck stops stinging and his voice comes back properly. So he shrugs. “You got a better idea?”

Peggy scoffs. “I definitely have a better idea than going at her with an old carrot and stick routine. Dottie isn’t your usual fare, Jack, and we’re going to have to adjust for that. She works by different rules.” Carter looks away to check in on the room through the glass, watching Dottie settled in, prim and lovely as a debutante at a social gathering if not for the cuffs and the grey walls.

The thing is, he _knows_ Carter’s right. Knows it way down in his gut. But he also knows he can’t sit this one out. Not after everything. And there’s the rub – if they’re going to get anything done here, it’s got to be Carter’s show and Jack’s chafing at that, desperate for the chance to go in and hit something, throw something around, just let out all this stuff building up inside him.

“That won’t work,” Carter murmurs, voice softening to account for his grief, or maybe to save him from any of the others overhearing. When he can finally bring himself to look at her, her eyes are steady and focused as always, nothing of the pity he’d expected in them.

It still chafes, but he can swallow it down to get the job done. “I’m not letting you go in that room alone,” he tells her, the memory of how quickly Dottie had turned the tables on him still fresh, holding a hand up to forestall the protests she’s already started to list, “but it’s your show.”

“That’s not how it works,” she immediately snaps, cheeks flushed with annoyance, and Jack’s never going to tell anyone how much that does it for him, how easy it was to send Souza away so he wouldn’t have to see the two of them dancing around each other. Jack’s not stupid and he’s not a masochist. And he’s never going to be stupid enough to tell Carter any of this.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t look now, can’t watch her face cycle through its emotions, exasperation most prominent, then a startled nervousness as something occurs to her.

“You had an idea right then,” he points out, and swallows back the nerves that come from seeing Carter look worried and uncomfortable. He’s seen her sail through a dozen agents with a smile and an aggressive right hook; Jack doesn’t think he wants to find out what puts that look on Carter’s face.

“You’re not going to like it but I have a plan,” Carter says, flush rising up from her throat and filling her cheeks, but eyes steady on his. “We’re reinventing the carrot and the stick.”

* * *

 

“Peggy,” Dottie croons, sitting up to attention, her smile widening as they take their seats across from her. It’s unnerving how anticipatory she looks, how hungry, so different from her amused sufferance of his own methods.

“Dottie,” Carter greets, as precise and intense as ever, leaning over the table to uncuff her. “I must apologise for the handling earlier.”

Dottie tuts and tilts her head as she rubs at her wrists. “Oh, come now, Peg,” she says, “we both know I was the one doing all the handling there.” Her eyes slide to him and she shakes her head slowly, mocking and dripping with innuendo. “He was so ready to set upon me with his… stick. How could I refuse?”

He’s been doing this long enough that he doesn’t bother to flush or flinch, just sets his jaw and clenches his fists. His orders are to wait out whatever weird cat and mouse game the two of them are playing, all politeness and bared smiles, and he’s trusting Carter now to bring this home.

“Yes, well, he’s not doing that now, are you, Jack?” Carter’s question doesn’t expect an answer so much as smooth out the situation, he knows, but he nods anyway, keeping his eyes on Dottie as she scrutinises him for every nuance she can get. He doesn’t think he’s giving her anything but she purses her lips like he’s done something amusing.

“Rapped his knuckles, did you, Peg?” She’s staring right into his eyes, her own that brilliant blue under that dark hair, so oddly like Carter but not quite.

“Agent Thompson and I did have a chat,” Carter acknowledges tartly. Jack can’t help the wince even as he turns his head to call Carter out for –

The glee in Dottie’s eyes catches him before he says anything, and he stops, cat-caught and seething, staring right into Carter’s calm eyes and raised eyebrow, feeling like the chastened schoolboy they seem determined to turn him into.

There’s a pause then that feels like forever. He can feel Dottie watching them, judging where next to push, but Carter’s calm as a judge and not even Jack can see where he could press to break that.

But Dottie seems to have an idea because her voice is all smiles and husk when she says, “I think I should be the one to punish him, don’t you? After all, I was the one threatened with a stick.” The last two words are pointed barbs that dig at Jack.

Peggy doesn’t bat an eye. “So you want your carrot,” she asks, but it’s not really a question.

“I want my carrot,” Dottie confirms. “And since Agent Thompson here told me that the old carrot’s gone, I think he should be made to give me a new one.”

It’s more than Jack can bear. “Now see here –”

Peggy interrupts before he has a chance to do much more than bluster, grabbing his shoulder and pressing him down into the chair. “What did you have in mind?” she raps out, like she’s willing to barter Jack’s pride and the chief’s memory away for this.

He tries to get up again and Carter’s grip shifts to the back of his neck to hold him down. “Sit _down_ , Jack,” she snaps, and Jack… sits. He can’t seem to help himself.

“Oh, now,” Dottie murmurs, leaning forward, “that’s interesting. That’s a lovely carrot.”

He can feel the flush climbing his face but there’s nothing he can do to help it, not if he wants this to work. Carter had warned him that Dottie could be unpredictable but Jack hadn’t really thought about what that might mean, the reality of it now hitting him as she watches him sit, silent and ready, like the dog on a chain they called him before he was chief. The SSR’s dog brought to heel by Peggy Carter.

He can’t help the curl of humiliated heat in his belly but he hopes that they can’t see it on his face.

“Give him to me,” Dottie tells Carter, “and I’ll explain everything.”

Jack feels his stomach jump, half nerves, half something he doesn’t want to examine too closely.

“No,” Carter says, and Jack feels something in him relax, sagging in relief. “Try again.”

He can see Dottie assess Carter, eye him and the way he’s still even though he wants to squirm, feeling strung tight as a wire between them. She licks her lips, a quick flick of a pink tongue over the shiny red expanse, and he clenches down on the shudder that wants to escape. He’s half hard in his trousers and he has no idea when it happened, caught out by the way every shift of his hips is pulling cloth tight against his dick.

“He wants it,” Dottie croons, and Jack hates her for seeing that. Hates her more than he’s ever hated anyone before.

“I don’t think that’s relevant,” Carter responds calmly.

“Fine,” Dottie says, and sits back as if she’s done with it. Jack’s heart is rabbiting with adrenaline. “You do it and I’ll watch.”

“I don’t think –” It’s the first time Jack’s heard Carter falter in this.

Dottie’s smile widens like this is her trap ready to be sprung upon them, and Jack reacts almost before he can think, reflexively blurting, “I’ll do it!” Anything to take that look off Dottie’s face.

“Jack” Carter says, exasperation drawing out the syllables, and Jack has to take a deep breath before he can turn to her and meet her eyes.

“I’ll do it, Carter,” he says, as sincere as he knows how. “If this is what it takes to get her, I’ll do it.”

Carter doesn’t bother to ask him again, just nods and goes to the room’s door where he can hear her telling the other agents to step out and turn off any recording devices. He can hear them grumble but do as she says, and he’s oddly grateful that she thought to do that and spare him the indignity of getting up with his trousers the way they are.

This is actually part of the reason Jack thinks he can’t get her out of his head any more. She’s so sure of herself, more in control than anyone else he’s ever known, and he didn’t think that was ever going to be a turn on but apparently he’s just wired strange. Either that or it’s just Carter. Given him and Souza and goddamn Captain America all falling over themselves, he wouldn’t put it past belief that Carter’s just got something that makes her irresistible.

“She is special,” Dottie chimes in, like she knows exactly what he’s been thinking as he watches Carter at the door, still keeping an eagle eye on the agents as they pack up and turn everything off.

“You wouldn’t know the first thing about Carter,” he tells her, hoping for a snarl and only getting a smile in response.

“I know I can call her Peggy and you can’t,” she says, and Jack nearly goes over the table at her before Peggy’s back behind him and slamming him down onto the table, kicking away his chair and pushed up behind him so he can feel the sides of her hips between his legs.

“You’re just determined to draw this punishment out, aren’t you?” Peggy says, exasperated, and Jack doesn’t bother to hide his snarl anymore when Dottie laughs.

The table’s cold against his cheek, the chill of it seeping through his shirt to the parts of his skin where his undershirt doesn’t provide an extra layer. He grips the edges as Carter says, “Twenty is quite enough,” his mind caught on the sound of that – Twenty. Twenty will be enough – without really processing it.

“Only if we do this properly with nothing in the way,” Dottie responds, sounding delighted and perfectly willing to play along with the situation she’s put into motion.

“Jack,” Peggy asks, more a question than his name, and he’s already fumbling with his belt, shoving it back through its loops and pushing his trousers down, his shorts with them, though he stays bent over the table the whole time. If he stood up, he’d probably run screaming. If he stood up, he’d have to acknowledge the way his legs are trembling, the way the curl in his belly isn’t all humiliation, the fact that he’s still hard even while his dick has been snugged up against the cold table while waiting to have his ass spanked. And if everyone knew that, if Carter – Peggy – knew that – if everyone could see that when he stood up – he doesn’t think he could go back down and splay himself out against the table like this again. Not without losing something inside that he isn’t ready to let go of yet.

“There, there,” Dottie mocks, even as her warm hand comes up to grip the back of his neck like a parody of Carter holding him down before, the other hand turning his cheek so he’s staring right into her eyes when Carter starts counting, the sharp sting of her hand shooting through his ass and jerking him against the table because Carter’s not holding back, not even this time.

It hurts, sharp burn never quite smoothing into a steady ache, just sting upon sting piling on top of each other until Jack’s moving back into them, and forward away from them, white noise filling his mind rather than the rhythm of them.

At some point Dottie circles her fingers round his lips until he opens them, panting as he sucks on them, sloppy wet and pinned in place between Carter’s hand holding his hips steady and Dottie’s hand just resting on his neck, not even tight enough anymore that he could think of it as a threat, so he can focus anywhere else.

The tight pressure and hurt that’s building in his ass feels like it’s seeping through him, pooling in his balls and dripping out of his dick. The heat of it feels like a stark contrast to how that table is keeping him cool everywhere else even as he’s sweating through his shirt, knees trembling even as Carter finally stops and just rests her hand on his ass, the weight of it pushing enough soreness though that he moans around Dottie’s fingers.

“Told you she was good,” Dottie murmurs to him. Jack’s got his eyes open enough to tell that she’s not paying any attention to him, all of her interest focused solely on Carter. She’s smiling like she’s discovered something amazing, like they’ve really given her something here rather than just humiliated Jack to within an inch of his life. “Do it,” she urges, voice hoarse like she’s getting off on this, “I can guarantee he wants it.”

“Carter,” he rasps as Dottie pulls her fingers back, spit wet, voice cracking, his fingers flexing on the edges of the table. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for. More. Enough. Twenty was supposed to be enough.

He can feel Carter flex her hand into his ass as she thinks, the tiny aches of it flaring deep through the muscle. He grits his teeth and pushes back into the feeling. Just a bit more and he might –

“Carter,” he groans, half way to desperate.

“Hush,” Dottie says, falsely indulgent. “You don’t have to worry. If Peggy can’t take care of you properly, then I will.”

Then her hands are gone and Jack’s scrambling at the table, trying to push up even as Carter’s hands don’t move, fingers digging in so the ache flares out so much faster this time, harsh enough that Jack’s back bows against it.

“Let me show you how it’s done,” he hears Dottie say from behind him, fear climbing into his throat at having her there where he’s vulnerable, only swallowed back because Carter’s there too and Carter would never hurt him, would never let Dottie hurt anyone if she could ever help it again.

And Jack has to trust in that because he can feel hands pulling his cheeks apart, pressing so hard that for a second he’s just seeing white behind his eyelids, everything too sore and too much, before two of Dottie’s spit-slick fingers – _his spit_ , he thinks, shaking – are pushing into him, shoving the breath right out of him.

He scrabbles at the table while Dottie laughs, groan caught behind his teeth as she pumps them, slow and languid, the burn of it somehow different from inside than the rest of his ass, the edges of his hole catching on her knuckles.

“Now this is a carrot,” Dottie informs him, leaning over his back so he can smell perfume and pressed powder, the warmth of her all along his back while his front is cold from the table.

Jack shakes while Dottie's fingers twist roughly in him, too full and like they're pushing the come out of his balls through his ass, something between ache and good and not quite enough, and it's humiliating that this is working for him, isn't the punishment he'd imagined – so much worse instead because Dottie's working him up and then leaving him there, not putting him over –

“Easy,” Carter snaps, as Jack feels Dottie line up a third finger against his ass. “That’s too much.”

“Peg,” Jack can hear Dottie murmur reproachfully, “he loves it. Look at him.”

Jack doesn't even know he's begging until he's whispering, “Carter, Peggy, make her, please God, make her,” everything gone to shit except that he’s so close, so damn close.

“Jack, stay with me,” Carter says, soft, like she’s worried about him, and Jack arches into the hands holding him down, sure that they’re hers because they’re no nonsense and firm (but not unkind, never unkind, even after it all) and he’s okay while they’re there. Even with the static in his brain, he knows that.

It’s a contrast to how her voice comes out, crisp and dismissive, “Are you going to play all day or are you ever actually going to give me something to work with?” like Dottie's wasting her time going to town on his ass. It's funny enough to startle a laugh out of him.

There's a brief second then where Jack can feel the tension in the room coil tight, silent like the moment before a bomb goes off. And then Dottie laughs and everything is smoothed over again.

“Oh, I'm done with your little toy,” she says, and her fingers slide out so easy, so wet, that Jack has to shift the whine he wants to let out into a grunt.

She walks back around the table and settles in, as much the pretty debutante as ever, except now Jack knows what’s under that mask.

He’s still hard and now empty and aching, legs trembling as he pushes himself up and starts to put his clothes back on, the skin on his ass pulling painfully tight as he moves. There’s a hot clutch of shame in his belly for the fact that he almost wishes he hadn't said anything, wishes Carter hadn’t stopped Dottie at three fingers because maybe then he could've gotten off. Then maybe he’d know what, what this feeling _is_. Instead his balls are still aching, and his cock and ass are so wet so he can feel the slip-slide of them even if he doesn't move too much.

Dottie smiles, taps her fingers on the table so he can see they're still slick with his spit, slick from his ass, nails glistening, red lips smiling wide over white teeth. He can’t look away.

“The information,” Carter prompts, and Jack still can't look at her, can't see what she thinks of the way he bent over and just… _took it_.

Dottie leans in and winks, voice a loud whisper, “You see how she gives a little to get what she wants?”

Jack nods tightly and keeps his mouth shut because he’s not stupid, he’s just learning.

“Honey,” Dottie sighs, full of triumph and false sympathy. “It’s pretty obvious. What she wants is me.”


End file.
